


Rage, Rage Against the Dying of the Light

by orphan_account



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Metamorphoses - Ovid
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bestiality, Bittersweet Ending, Canonical Character Death, Courtly Love, F/M, Feminist Themes, Gen, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mother-Son Relationship, Retelling, Revenge, Screw the patriarchy, Sister-Sister Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-08 13:15:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6856156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All men must die, but immortal goddesses are forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rage, Rage Against the Dying of the Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merfilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/gifts).



> Title comes from a poem by Dylan Thomas.

In the beginning there was light. There was also love, beauty, and laughter. Pasiphae, daughter of the Sun God, dwelled in her father's golden palace on the River Okeanos.

Her mother Perseis had born four children in rapid succession before returning to the sea. In time, they all grew to adulthood and choices were made. Pasiphae's brothers, fair Perses and tall Aeetes, were loathe to remain under their father's roof. They left for the mortal world to found their own kingdoms. Such are the ways of men; war, conquest, and glory. Pasiphae and her sister Kirke stayed, happy and content. Every morning before dawn, they would rise to greet their father as he prepared to make his journey across the heavens. Helios would embrace and kiss them fondly, for the children of Perseis were precious to him.

The two sisters were inseparable from the day of their birth. As children, they ran through the halls of the palace, playing and laughing. As grown women, they studied the arts of sorcery and made a name for themselves as powerful witches.

Occasionally, they wandered the banks of the Okeanus. At times, a mortal man would draw close, longing to catch a glimpse of the two beautiful immortals, only to be thwarted by their powerful magic.

“Why did you have to do that, sister?” Pasiphae asked sorrowfully one day, as their latest admirer hopped away, transformed into a grasshopper.

“I saw your eye upon him, Pasiphae,” Kirke responded with an all-knowing gleam in her eyes, “and I sought to spare you from the pain.”

“What pain do you speak of?” Pasiphae asked in puzzlement.

“Why the pain of loving a mortal, dear sister! They may bring you happiness and joy but only for a short time. Their lives are fleeting and minuscule. All men must die, but immortal goddesses go on forever.”

Kirke's advice proved to be a moot point. Shortly afterwards, Pasiphae was given in marriage to Minos, king of Crete and mortal descendant of Zeus.

…

Minos, favorite of the gods, had united all of Crete under his rule. In his arrogance, he asked great Zeus for the hand of a goddess and the mighty sky god, amused by his great-grandson's request, arranged a union between Minos and Helios' only virgin daughter.

All the gods and goddesses, from the Pantheon to the minor sea lords, gathered for the marriage ceremony on the shores of Crete. Even Perseis returned from the sea to see Pasipahe and Minos joined in wedlock.

“Do not be afraid, fair sister,” Kirke said as she decked Pasiphae out in finery, “your husband will grow old and die in the blink of an eye. Father has given me the island of Aiaia to live on. Come and join me when you are free of your earthly obligations.”

Pasiphae, with her red-gold hair and flashing golden eyes, had never looked as beautiful as she did on her wedding day. All mortals, men and women alike, were dazzled by her appearance. Even some of the gods bemoaned the fact that they had never sought the attentions of golden Helios' daughter.

Helios, decked out in splendor at the wedding feast, made a toast to the bride and groom and gave them his blessings. Perseis said nothing and gazed upon her daughter with sorrow.

“I have had a vision of your future,” the Okeanid said as she drew Pasiphae aside, “and it will not be an easy one. A great trial awaits you, my daughter. Hold on to those you love and the gods may be merciful.”

Pasiphae had no time to ponder her mother's strange words, as her husband returned to take her to bedchamber and consummate their union.

“Good luck,” Kirke said as she embraced her sister and slipped a vial into Pasiphae's hands.

“For you to use if your husband should ever prove unfaithful,” she whispered.

Then Kirke was gone and Pasiphae was left alone with her husband and new life.

….

The first years of their marriage were peaceful. Pasiphae did not love her husband, (at times she did not even like him), but she grew to accept her new role as wife and queen. She bore Minos two sons, Katreus and Deukalian. Both boys had their father's dark hair and olive skin, but their mother's golden eyes. Minos was pleased with his children, but Pasiphae only observed them with a faint curiosity. Demigods they might be, but they were still mortal and vulnerable.

As Kirke had predicted, Minos began to stray. Pasiphae simply slipped the contents of Kirke's vial into his midday meal. That same night, she heard the screams of the slave girl Minos had taken as a concubine. By morning, the girl was dead and Minos returned dutifully to her bed, for no mortal woman could lie with him and live. In due time, Pasiphae produced a third son, Glaucus.

…

Minos dreamed of conquest and glory. It often fell to Pasiphae to handle matters at court, while her husband waged war against the surrounding islands. So it was one day that Pasiphae met the man who would change her life forever.

It had been a long day. Pasiphae, heavily pregnant with her fourth child, presided over trade disputes, petitions from the local noblemen, and the case of one widow who had lost both husbands and sons fighting for Minos against Atlantis. Strangely moved by the woman's testimony, Pasiphae arranged for the widow to be monetarily compensated and gave her rooms in the palace to live out the rest of her days.

She was exhausted by the time the last suppliant arrived. While she had carried her other children with ease, this pregnancy had proved wearisome. Pasiphae had been warned by her sister that as she spent more time among mortals, her immortal powers would wane. Was she now experiencing the same aches and pains as any earthborn woman?

Pasiphae pushed aside her concerns to welcome the newest guest to Minos' court. He was an ordinary-looking man of average height and average build. In his arms he carried a young child. Both the man and the child were weary and covered in dirt, as if they had arrived from a long time journey. Pasiphae ordered one of the servants to take the child and bade the man to sit before her.

“My name,” he said, “is Daedalus and I have come to offer King Minos my services.”

“My husband is not here,” Pasiphae replied cautiously, “how do you wish to serve him?”

“With my hands, my lady. I am an architect. In Athens, I served the king himself. I constructed a new temple of Athena in his name and erected a statue to the goddess. Surely you have heard of me, Queen Pasiphae?”

The words were full of ego, but his tone was matter of fact.

“No, I have not. If you did such great work for the King of Athens, then why are you here, Daedalus?”

He lowered his head to avoid his gaze. This time his voice was tinged with sorrow.

“King Aegeus and I fell into quarrel. My family and I were forced to flee the city. My son survived the journey but...my wife died at sea.”

Pasiphae lifted a cup of wine to her lips and pondered what to do with this strange man.

Daedalus was not the first to come to her husband claiming to be a great artist, architect, or inventor. Most of had been frauds. One had even claimed to be the son of Hephastion, (as if he could fool the daughter of Helios!) Yet, there was something in this man’s eyes that spoke of greatness.

“I will provide lodgings for you and your son until my husband returns. King Minos will determine your capabilities, Daedalus.”

“Thank you my lady,” he said in gratitude.

Daedalus bowed deeply and allowed the servants to lead him away.

…

Minos was delighted to find the Athenian artisan waiting for him when he returned to Crete for he knew of Daedalus' reputation. Sculpting and architecture were not the Athenian’s only talents. Her husband soon set him to work building a fleet of ships, the likes of which the world had never seen.

After two days of strenuous labor, Pasiphae gave birth to her fourth son, Androgeos, a golden child in the image of her father.

Pasiphae had never particularly cared for her other sons. They were too much like their father, in looks and personality. Androgeos was different. Perhaps it was because of his resemblance to her; perhaps it was the great effort it had taken to bring him into this world, but his mother cared for him deeply. Pasiphae looked upon her youngest son and, for the first time, she wept for the truth, that her children would live a mortal life. Androgeos and his brothers would grow old before her eyes, while she remained the same.

Androgeos seemed to sense her sorrow for he cried constantly, despite his mother’s attempts to calm him. The doctors could find nothing wrong with him. Like all demigods, he was born in perfect health.

Minos was merely annoyed by his son’s condition, dismissing his son as a weakling. It was Pasiphae that sat by his cradle, night after night, for none of her magic could cure him. She and Kirke had studied sorcery, not healing.

It was Daedalus who provided the solution. He had noticed the queen’s tired eyes and sought to end her pain. So it was that he entered the nursery one night, with a device to place above Androgeos’ cradle. To Pasiphae it looked like a colorful wind chime, but Daedalus pulled a lever and a series of objects circled around the prince’s head, accompanied by soothing music.

Androgeos ceased to cry. In fact, he laughed and tried to grab the shiny items with his baby hands.

Pasiphae nearly wept for joy. She took the inventor’s hands in hers.

“Ask anything of me, Daedalus, and if it be within my power, I shall grant it.”

The Athenian merely shook his head.

“I want for nothing, my lady. It is enough to see you smile again.”

…

In time, Pasiphae bore her first daughter, Acalle, Then, another girl who she named Xenodice. Finally, she had daughters to stay at home with her, instead of sons who would go off to war. It was the tenth year of her marriage and Pasiphae was content.

Shortly thereafter, her sister returned.

….

Kirke entered the nursery undetected, while Pasiphae rocked young Xenodice to sleep. It was like looking at a reflection of her past self, for the sisters were identical, except that Kirke’s hair was golden, while Pasiphae’s was a mixture of fire and light.

Part of her wanted to run to her sister and embrace her, but there was something not quite right about the way Kirke approached her.

“Sister, what a joy it is to see you again! Why have you come here unannounced? Minos and I would have thrown a feast in your honor.”

Kirke drew closer and laid a gentle kiss on Pasiphae’s forehead.

“Because, my dear sister, Minos will not approve of what I have come to offer you.”

“And what could that be?” Pasiphae asked in puzzlement.

“Mother tells me you are to bear nine mortal children; nine children for you to outlive. I cannot spare you the pain of losing all your sons and daughters, but I can at least save one of them.”

Kirke gestured to Xenodice and Pasiphae understood.

“Let me take her to my island, sister where I will make her one of my attendants. Xenodice will want for nothing and she will live forever. I would have come for your first daughter, but mother tells me she has a destiny to fulfill.”

Pasiphae nearly handed over her daughter then and there, but she had another child who needed Kirke’s help.

“What of my son, Androgeos, sister? He will never survive in this world. Androgeos is nothing like his father. He prefers books to the training of his sword master, while his brothers already make ready for war. Minos despises him. If he stays, my husband will force Androgeous to become a soldier and he’ll die before his time.”

Kirke merely shook his head.

“There is no room for men on my island. I turn all of them who dare trespass on my shores into swine. It can only be Xenodike, sister, and you will see her again once you are free of the shackles of marriage.”

Again, Pasiphae pleaded.

“Please sister; you are giving me no choice.”

Kirke leaned forward and wiped the tears from her sister’s eyes.

“My dearest sibling, don’t you see? Goddess you may be, but you are still a woman and women are rarely given a choice in anything. Even Hera must submit to Zeus. Why do you think I lay with Poseidon when I had barely come in to womanhood? I did not want to share your fate. I went to Aiaia because the only way to protect ourselves from the world of men is to isolate ourselves from them completely. Androgeos, if he grows to manhood, will still have more power than your daughters ever will.”

Pasiphae stared at her sister in horror. She knew every word Kirke said to be the truth and hated her for it. She silently handed her daughter to Kirke and turned her back on her.

“You have nothing to fear, Pasiphae,” Kirke said as she departed. “I will care for her as if she were my own child.”

Pasiphae looked for a stillborn child, but found none. The gods had blessed the house of Minos that year. Instead, she took a living baby girl whose mother had died in childbirth and smothered her to death. The servants found “Xenodike” dead in her cradle the next morning. Minos said nothing when told of their daughter’s untimely passing. After all, she was only a girl.

…

Pasiphae bore Minos two more daughters, smiling Ariadne and flame-haired Phaedra. Then, she locked her bedroom door and told her husband she would bear him no more children. Minos did not care. He had finally found a mistress, Procris, who was immune to Kirke’s spell. She bore Minos several bastard children and Pasiphae wondered why Minos’ indiscretions had ever bothered her to begin with.

Androgeous grew older. He was still as different from his brothers as night from day, but he found a playmate in Daedalus’ son, Icarus. They could often be found in Daedalus’ workshop, studying under the great master.

Pasiphae often sat and watched as Daedalus gave them in lessons in everything from sculpture to architecture. She told herself she merely wished to watch over her son, but in truth it was for herself alone. Over the years, Pasiphae and Daedalus had formed an unspoken bond. Mortal he might be, but Daedalus was the only one who truly understood her suffering. For her part, Pasiphae wondered if any other had noticed the haunted look in the inventor’s eyes. Nothing improper would ever take place, but Pasiphae often dreamed of him in the safety of her bedchamber.

And so it went over the years; the silent gazes they exchanged when no one else was looking and the meetings in her council chamber where they discussed Minos’ newest projects. It was unnecessary, (Minos now had advisers to take care of these matters), but Pasiphae savored those rare moments alone with him. Occasionally, as they would go over some diagram or chart, she would allow her hand to briefly touch his. He would turn to her and the heat of his gaze was almost enough to make her give in to desire.

“ _Never love a mortal.”_

Kirke’s words often reverberated through her thoughts nowadays. What would her sister think of her now, infatuated with a plain, ordinary commoner?

…

Her husband’s attempts to conquer Athens had failed, despite the magnificent fleet Daedalus had built for him. Humiliated, Minos did what he should have done in the first place. He prayed to the gods for help.

Daedalus constructed a magnificent temple to Poseidon of marbel that glittered in the sunlight. On the day of the temple’s dedication, Minos gathered his entire family and court on the ocean shore. Even Procris and her sons were present for the ceremony.

“Great Poseidon,” he exhorted, “I beg you, give me the power to smite my enemies. Send me a sign and I will make a sacrifice in your honor.”

The waves parted and a beautiful bull emerged from the sea. It was a magnificent creature with sleek white fur and horns of gold. The bull walked right up to Minos’ side and bowed its head, as if it already knew its fate.

Minos laid his hand on the bull's shoulder and cried out the sea.

“Thank you for the gift, oh great Poseidon!”

“Take the creature to my finest stable,” he ordered a servant.

“But husband,” Pasiphae objected, “you promised to sacrifice this bull to the gods.”

Minos turned to her with a sneer.

“Surely not this magnificent creature, wife. This is a gift from the sea god and we will give it the highest honor. Still, I will sacrifice half my herd to Poseidon in gratitude.”

Pasiphae shook her head in disapproval, knowing her husband’s pride would be his undoing. She watched as the slaves led the bull away and a strange sensation came upon her. It was almost like desire.

…

A flurry of images flashed through her mind. The bull, Minos, her children begging her for attention, and Daedalus…she was asking him, pleading with him…for something.

Pasiphae woke in her bed with a gasp. Never had she had such a dream...unless. She looked down at her tattered and dirty gown, saw Daedalus asleep in a chair nearby, and knew it was no dream.

She pulled herself out of bed, crossed the room, and smacked the inventor square across the face.

He awoke with a start.

“My-my q-queen,” he stammered.

“Why did you do it, Daedalus? How could you create that device and let me copulate with that thing?”

“Why, my lady, you begged me to do it! Your servants told me that you refused to eat or drink, and slept little. I refused you over and over again, but at the end…I simply could not bear to watch you suffer.”

He was crying, the same as she. She remembered now. Poseidon had cursed her with an unfathomable desire for Poseidon’s bull and she had begged Daedalus to create a mechanical cow so she could lie with it. Then, when it was over he had carefully removed her from the device and carried her back to her chambers in the dead of night.

The gods had chosen to punish her for her husband’s sins and that could only mean one thing. Her sister had told her she was to bear nine mortal children and Pasiphae only had eight. She was pregnant.

…

Pasiphae had never cared for Minos, but now she hated him with every fiber of her being. She dreamed of taking her revenge, of entering his bedroom in the middle of the night and slitting his throat. Only the knowledge that he was the father of her children kept her from acting out her fantasies.

She gave birth in a small hovel away from the palace. After hours of arduous labor, her new child was born. The midwives screamed when they saw him, a monster with the head of a bull and the body of a human. Even Minos paled at the sight of him.

“Pasiphae,” he said when he had regained his composure, “I will have my men take it outside and kill it.”

“My dear husband,” Pasiphae replied through gritted teeth, “you have already angered Poseidon once, do you mean to do so again by murdering the child whose birth he brought into motion? This is your curse, Minos, and you must bear it.”

This time King Minos heeded his wife’s words and allowed the child to live, provided he be kept away from the palace and out of sight. He commissioned Daedalus to build an elaborate underground maze for Pasiphae’s child to live in, somewhere he could never escape.

At first, Pasiphae wanted nothing to do with the infant creature. However, when she found he had attacked his wet nurses with his massive jaw, she took pity on him and nursed him herself. Pasiphae named him Asterion, or “starry one”, for unlike her other children he had been born in the dead of night.

Daedalus finished the structure within a year and it was time for Asterion to enter his new home.

“Come Pasiphae,” her husband said, “your son is not fit to leave among civilization. Our children miss you. Leave the beast behind and return home.”

Pasiphae looked upon her son and was filled with compassion for him. She had tried her best not to love her children, (at first she had treated them with mere indifference), but slowly, over the years, she had grown to love and care for them. Now she was faced with the dilemma of abandoning the child who needed her most. She remembered her mother's words from long ago.

_“Hold on to those you love and the gods may prove merciful.”_

“If he goes, I go with him,” she replied, with absolute determination in her voice.

So it was that the daughter of Helios came to dwell in a dark room, far away from the sun. Daedalus was the only one who knew how to navigate “The Labyrinth”, as he called it. He came to her each morning with fresh food, clothes, and the body of a lamb, as Ascerion would only eat raw meat.

Sometimes Daedalus delivered letters from her children, who pleaded with her to come home. Her heart ached for all of them, especially after Acalle was banished for having a child with Hermes. Still, Pasiphae refused to leave Ascerion's side.

Years passed. Ascerion could not speak but mother and son developed a system of hand gestures to communicate with each other.

“Pasiphae,” Daedalus said to her one day, as they had long since dispensed with formalities, “there is something I wish to tell you. I was not truthful to you when I came to Crete. The King of Athens condemned me to death, but he did so with good reason.”

She knew, somehow she had always known that Daedalus was keeping a secret from her.

“When I was younger, I took my sister’s son Perdix as my apprentice. I taught him all of my knowledge, but as the years passed he came to surpass me in skill and creativity. It was he that created many of the tools I use in my workshop. Instead of embracing him as an equal, I grew jealous and murdered him.”

Pasiphae leaned forward and laid a gentle hand on his forearm.

“You are not alone, Daedalus.”

She told him about the death of Minos’ concubine and the baby girl she had killed to hide her daughter’s disappearance.

“So you see, Daedalus, we are both monsters.”

Knowing he would never have the courage to embrace her first, she kissed him.

…

With Icarus a grown man and Minos away at war, there was no one to watch Daedalus slip away each night to enter the labyrinth. In the darkness of Pasiphae’s bedroom, they made love, finally consummating their long, unspoken desire for each other

“Never love a mortal,” her sister had said.

Pasiphae had learned that love itself was worth the heartbreak.

…

Asterion was now grown. He had the head of a bull, but the soul of a man. In their solitude, Pasiphae herself had taught him to read and write. Now that Daedalus was with them, he learned other skills. Together, they carved wooden figures to decorate their home. Sometimes, Pasiphae wondered what her son would have been like if he had grown up alone, without a mother to care for him. Would he truly have turned into the monster the gods intended him to be? She looked upon her gentle-hearted son and knew that she had made the right choice.

…

News came that Minos was returning, having suffered great defeat at Athenian hands. Pasiphae was pleased to know her husband had been beaten, but she was sorry that Daedalus would no longer be able to visit her every night. Minos would soon set him to work constructing another fleet.

“We can escape this place,” Daedalus whispered to her in the darkness, “I have constructed wings to let us fly.”

Pasiphae shook her head in sorrow.

“Zeus himself gave me to Minos to marriage. I cannot leave as long as he lives.”

…

It was not Daedalus, but Ariadne who told her the news. The clever girl had figured out what had happened to her mother and used a ball of string to make her way through the maze Daedalus had created. The sails on the returning ships were black. Androgeos was dead.

Ariadne held her mother as she wept.

...

Pasiphae had dreamed of returning to the surface many times before, but it had always been with joy in her heart. Instead, she emerged dressed in black to bury her son at sea. Androgeos, her precious boy, was gone. She stared at Minos in hatred and knew what she had to do.

Her other children gathered around her, overjoyed to see their mother again. Even Acalle had been permitted to return for her brother's funeral, with her young son at her side. Pasiphae embraced and kissed every one of them, promising to return for the evening meal.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a stranger on the beach, a woman with reddish hair and the golden eyes of the House of Helios. It was Xenodice, returned at last.

She waited until her other children had left before approaching her long lost daughter.

“Xenodice, you have come back to me!”

“Only for a short time, mother. I’ve come to take you and Asterion to Aiaia, but first,” Xenodice withdrew a vial from the pockets of her gown, “Kirke told me you would know what to do with this.”

Pasiphae sniffed the contents of the vial and a smile lit up her face.

“Indeed I do.”

…

She poured the contents of the vial in Minos' drink that night, after the children had left.

“You were wrong to to take Androgeus to war with you, husband. The boy could barely pick up a sword.”

“He was my son and it was responsibility to teach him the arts of war craft. It is not my fault that the boy was too weak to survive.”

“No, my dearest husband. You were wrong and I have seen to it that no other child of mine will suffer at your hands.”

With that, Minos fell to the ground paralyzed.

…

Years ago, Pasiphae had spared Minos' life for the sake of her children. Now, she killed him to save them. She buried Minos deep in the earth, where no man would ever find him, even after Circe's potion wore off. How fitting that a man who loved the sea so much had been buried alive.

…

“I'm sorry my love,” she said to Daedalus, “but my sister does not allow men on her island. This is goodbye.”

They kissed one last time in the light of the sun.

Asterion bellowed in sorrow and gestured goodbye to Daedalus with a word he had never used before, "father."

…

Half man and half beast, Asterion lived a short life, but it was a good one. He played with his sister, Xenodice, on the shores of Aiaia, under the watch of their loving mother. When he died, Pasiphae placed his body among the stars and he became known as the constellation Tauros. Poseidon's curse had been Pasiphae's blessing.

After Minos' death, her sons fought for the ruler ship of Crete, plunging the country into civil war. When the dust settled after years of vicious fighting, the throne passed to Pasiphae's daughters, Ariadne and Phaedra. The two women ushered Crete into a new era of peace and prosperity.

Years later, an old man washed up upon the shores of Aiaia. It was Daedalus.

“After Minos disappeared, your sons sought me out,” he said as he lay in Pasiphae's arms. “They thought I was the one who murdered him. Icarus and I escaped with the wings I created, only my son flew too high. His wings melted and he fell into the sea.”

Pasiphae was saddened to hear of Icarus' fate, but not surprised. She knew the gods would make Daedalus pay for his nephew's murder someday.

“I am a creature of sorrow and misery,” he continued as Pasiphae wiped the tears from his eyes, “but I wanted to see you one more time before I died. If you are merciful, you will kill me yourself. I have had enough of this wretched life.”

“Oh my love,” said Pasiphae, “we both know that I have never been merciful.”

With that, she kissed the dying man and his youth was restored.


End file.
